


Frostbite Kisses.

by ZenzaoDLP



Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Alternate Universe, Book Spoilers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 23:14:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1666052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZenzaoDLP/pseuds/ZenzaoDLP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maeve takes a more active interest in Harry Dresden while he is still recovering from Mab's tender care on Demonreach. How will the daughter's ministrations favor the mother's Winter Knight? Hm, hm hm. Set around the beginning of Cold Days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frostbite Kisses.

The first time I saw her again, I couldn't distinguish between one unfriendly Fae-face and another. I'm told it was only a month after my return to life and subsequent delivery to Arctis Tor, and memory problems were only the smallest issue I had to contend with at that point. I had to learn how to eat, speak, and hold a spoon upright, for goodness sake, as well as what my own _Name_ was.  
  
What did it matter which one of the Sidhe was pouring hot chicken broth down my gullet so long as they were behaving like good little servants to Mab's ironclad-will compared to _that_?  
  
Hindsight response; it matters a whole damn lot, that's what.  
  
She made her move while I was still at the 'dribble soup across my chest unless told to close my mouth and swallow' stage. Normally arctic shades of blue, green, and piercing violet were whitewashed to a nondescript flat tone throughout her hair, itself unbraided and laying lifeless around her brow and neck in a way that, even had I retained my full senses, I would have been hard-pressed to guess was the Winter Lady, the Queen-in-the-making, Maeve.  
  
I still remember the first thing that caught my attention beyond the usual and tried to warn me away from what was to come - her eyes. Carefully concealed behind that don't-look-at-me hairdo until the door closed with all the finality of the headsman's axe. Then she tilted her head back to peer at me, with eyes that glittered of delicious satisfaction, the huntress cornering the wounded prey - in fact, no, even that does not convey the measure of her gaze upon my form in proper truth. I'm being far too generous to my own unstable position back then.  
  
Her look said, in no uncertain terms, that I was a drowning man half-way down the whirlpool, clinging desperately to a strip of wood as the sky roared with thunder and sleet and the waves crashed down relentlessly from above. And she was just the latest force of unforgiving nature falling from on high to snuff my pitiful existence from the world. It said I was a dead man no matter what happened next, coasting along on borrowed time before the inevitable end, and that I could choose to let go and be dragged down by the current or smashed to tinder like the driftwood holding me afloat.  
  
And would you like to know what I did in response to that deadly gaze? I'd love to say I sat up straight, gave her the finger, and vanished back to Chicago with a well-placed _aparturum_ and witty remark to remember me by. I'm sure some part of my brain was desperately firing on all cylinders with the explicit orders to do just that, which turned to frothing at the metaphorical mouth as I just lay there paralyzed with cold terror instead.  
  
My tongue went drier than it already had been. A vicious sweat broke out across my forehead and palms, hair standing on edge from the neck down, and my breath came in slow and painfully clenched exertions.  
  
"Oh, _my Knight_ ," she cooed in a mocking tribute to Mab, "my _poor_ , poor _Knight_ , whatever shall you do?" She strode forward and laid the platter with my chicken broth to one side of the bed, stretched out a section of sheet beside my left hip, and sat down rather more primly than her attitude and look promised she could do. I flinched just from proximity to her and those unrelenting eyes.  
  
"Why ever do you tremble so?" she asked in a sort of sing-song tone perfectly at odds with her expression.  
  
When I did not answer Maeve reached out to the bowl and swept a spoonful up to her own lips, which parted just enough to take the fluid in, and then without swallowing or spilling a drop she leaned forward to press them against my own. A shudder of pure chill raced down my body from the point of contact straight to my toes, plush though those lips were against my own courser finish. Her tongue darted out to part mine and in a disgusting take on the French kiss, or maybe the snowball depending on your savviness, she tilted her head down enough to pass the now-cold broth between us in one slow motion. Her tongue roved out and wrestled mine down with no effort until the last transfer of fluids was completed.  
  
I felt the quirk in her mouth as she smiled and pulled back, one hand rising to swipe away the trail of saliva cooling into frost between our mouths, the other coming up beneath my chin to close my mouth before I dribbled across the sheets.  
  
"Swallow." She ordered without a trace of her former pleasant tones.  
  
I swallowed, and even had the good sense to open again without being told. I couldn't tell why she was doing this, but looking back I recognize how much satisfaction she was reaping from the oral rape.  
  
She repeated the process once, twice, thirty times. However many it took to empty the bowl, and all the while the only thing I felt was terrified urges to obey and please the inhuman thing before me. The clamor that had erupted across my flesh at her presence had since gone on to leave me shivering from the lump of half-frozen soup sluicing back and forth in my gut.  
  
"Mm, so cold. We mustn't let the Winter Knight freeze to death." She pressed me down into the bedding and for a long moment I feared she would climb atop and smother me. Instead she drew the blankets up to my chin and used that as an excuse to lean in and press her mouth against my left ear, biting down hard enough to draw blood. I flinched again and groaned involuntarily while she swallowed with a throaty purr of satisfaction. "I know of many ways to warm you," she breathed afterward, tongue cleaning the wound and freezing it shut with her saliva, her tone of voice a mixture of bliss and longing. "And none of them you'll savor when the time comes."  
  
Maeve drew back with a pleasant smile and carried the tray to the door, which she opened and closed without another glance.

* * *

 

Chapter One concluded.


End file.
